Faction Myto’s Arrow [Tales from the Front NIO/GA]

[Cheapshot]

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Week Before Dubrillion-Echol’ya Offensive​

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Open Space, Near Angor System​

Myto’s Arrow Hyperlane​

Myto Sector, Outer Rim

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Aboard the NIO Defiance-Class Star Destroyer “Karak Marasiah”​

39th New Imperial Battle Squadron "Empress Marasiah", First Crusaders Fleet Force Corps​

Joint Special Task Force Group Myto-Obtrexta “Snipers”​

Cheapshot, the Zeltron TIE Pilot, sat back slumped into the cockpit chair of her TIE/Vx Vanguard starfighter. Her legs were up with her feet rested on the flat top of the up-front control panel, arched over the control yoke. Her shoulders shrugged up, they framed her slouching head and her displeased expression as she crossed her hands below the life-support chest plate. Her comms were tuned to the chatter between her own Eighty-First NIO Fighter Group’s Group Commander and the Joint Force NIO Starfighter Component Commander (JFSCC), called Jeff-Sicc sometimes, General Giaforr Ferhann.​

The two went back and forth calling, copying, and authenticating navigation and sensor data. The Eighty-First had been attached to the Joint Special Task Force Group for Myto-Obtrexta corridor, Snipers, along with Galactic Alliance components from their naval and starfighter forces. Snipers’ job was to seek and destroy Sith-Imperial supply convoys which had been using the Myto hyperlane to funnel the redeployment of supplies to the Dubrillion and Jaemus System.​

Snipers was half way through its infringement of the Myto Hyperlane, with all starfighter components on rotating active area sweep. For Cheapshot and her Darkstar Squadron Flight, “Destroyers”, it meant a tedious cycle of some flying and then hours of staying in her starfighter on stand-by.​

“Hey Cheaps,” called a Hangar Technician Officer from the open hatch of her Vanguard.​

His head popped into the eye-ball fuselage and came with an arm reaching out to tap Cheapshot on the head. Cheapshot tilted her head back and shot a scowling jerk of her head, silently calling on the tech-officer to get on with it.​

“Jeff-Sicc wants all flight commanders in the sub-bridges, ASAP,” he continued, “Said he’s got the Alliance’s navy commander ( Mordred B'Haran ) on holo-line.”​

“You fething schitting me?” Cheapshot whined back.​

“Fraid’not,” Tech-officer replied.​

“Imperator’s left nut, death by stand-by and now an extended schitting debrief with the Fleet Whippers,” Cheapshot said as she slowly nudged herself upright and began to climb out of the cockpit.​

“Almost makes me miss my prison cell back on Commenor.”​

Stepping onto the gangway that lined the ceiling of the star destroyer’s hangar, Cheapshot patted her self down and adjusted the black folds her TIE pilot’s uniform. The Tech-officer placed his hands on his hips and gave her a wry smile. Cheashot smirked, shrugged, and smacked the officer on his back before leaving for the exit doors. While making her way to the repulsorlift elevators, she reached into the sleeve pocket on her flight suit where a pack of smuggled Chandrilan Ciggaras was scrunched up inside. Unzipping the pocket she plucked a black and gold filter cigarra stick and lit it with a flip-lighter crammed into the same pocket. She took a deep breath and spat out a plume of purple smoke, then returned to cigarra to her purple lips where they lazily hung on the precipice of her lower lip.​

Rounding a corner she came across the other Flight Commander in the Darkstar Squadron, Jalter Volff , commander of the Bombers Flight. Cheapshot rolled the cigarra into the corner of her mouth and with the edge of the other she mumbled out a greeting as they both entered the elevator.​

“Hold up Bomber Boy,” Cheapshot said.​

She pulled the cigarra from her lips and expelled a smoky mist from her nostrils while groaning.​

“I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to take all of this schitt,” she opined.​

“What’s the point of being a flyboy if you’re stuck hanging from the fething dock plank like cured meat?”​

Cheapshot pointed to Jalter with the cigarra stuck between her index and middle finger.​

“Jeff-sicc better be giving us some Task Orders or some schitt or else I’m just gonna grab something to eat and gorge myself into a coma.”​

The doors opened and Cheapshot exited, as the two NIO pilots emerged into a long corridor that led to the sub-bridges of the star destroyer they came across the Alliance starfighters who had also been present.​

“Ho’schitt it’s the laser-sword heroes,” Cheapshot laughed as she waved at Saber Squadron.​

“The whole fething party is here to get bored into oblivion. Lovely.”​

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TAGS:​

//NIO// Jalter Volff Arten Jinn Loske Treicolt Marlon Sularen ​

//GA// Loske Treicolt Mordred B'Haran Maynard Treicolt ​

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[Jalter Volff]

Location: Karak Marasiah
Objective: Go to briefing/Complain about everything
Focus: Cheapshot
Equipment: TIE/HB Bruiser

Jalter looked behind him as Cheapshot called him and he listened in as she went on about how they were stuck not doing anything. "Hey at least you and your Destroyers are allowed out on patrol. The Captain won't let me or any of my lads out. Something about our payload being to expensive to lose. Drives me crazy sitting around with all the thick-headed ground pounders going on about how much better sitting in a muddy trench is than flying." Jalter said as he limped along.

The man still wasn't use to his cybernetic leg and it sure was a pain to walk around on this massive ship. As they continued to walk only one thing was on Jalter's mind. Which nerf herder decided they didn't need more hover trams on a star destroyer. If Jalter ever found who it was out he would unleash his Bomber's entire payload onto that sithspawn's house. Unless of course it was someone important. That would not be the smartest move.

“Ho’schitt it’s the laser-sword heroes, the whole fething party is here to get bored into oblivion. Lovely.”​

"Like hell if I'm going to sit around with some 'X-wing Commandos' for some diplomacy stint. We better do something or I'm deserting again." He said sarcastically. The New Imperial Order has given him a new home, a nice shiny rank plaque and some new bombers to play with. Jalter was not prepared to give all that up. As he spoke he scanned the room, looking at each Alliance pilot and trying to get a measure of who they were.

 

[Mordred B'Haran]

Location: MC81k LIberty type Mon Calamari Star Cruiser - Never to Yield
Deep Space, Near Angor System
Myto's Arrow Hyperlane

The The 117th Destroyer Battle Group had emerged into realspace in combat formation, the Binding of Arms and BatDiv35 as the lead of rough delta of destroyers, with cruisers on the flanks and escorts filling in between. After years of working with paramilitaries, rogues, and would-be rebels, being back in a proper military just felt right, and Mordred found he had no complaints thus far about the professionalism and competence of the new Galactic Alliance's spacers. He wished he could say the same of the politicians, but the cluster of wedge-shaped star destroyers facing him, designed as 'blue-friendly' on the tactical display, was all the answer he needed to that question.

For now, they shared a common foe, and that was enough.

"General, the Imperial commander is requesting to meet you on holo-vid."

Mordred scowled, or at least gave the best approximation of one that the reptilian visage of a besalisk could manage. But this was the whole reason they had agreed to a rendezvous in the first place, and at any rate they had to stop and coordinate the upcoming offensive at some point.

"Let all the Component Commanders know I'll expect to see them too." Mordred growled. The Core types might have felt fine about cooperating with people who had been their enemy only a short time before, that was the nature of living in the the chunk of the galaxy that changed hands like the shifting of the wind, but it felt like a betrayal of sorts to him. He spent a few minutes plotting out an attack on the Imperial formation in his head, figuring out the best way to exploit its distribution, but the mental exercise quickly ran into the snag of not having the CSG in company, and the pointless of it got frustrating. He gave up and left the bridge.

The main conference room was fairly small on the MC81k type Star Cruiser, a marked lack of 'comfort' or perhaps 'luxury' that was another of its notable departures from its historical predecessor, and one of the reasons Mordred had chosen the Never to Yield as his flagship. That, and it was by far the newest and arguably most advanced ship in the Alliance lineup thus far. He wondered how it might fair in a head-to-head fight against the Imperial battlecruiser that the allied commander was hailing from. Probably best not to find out.

"Karak Marasiah, this is Alliance Task Force Commander, Brigadier General B'Haran. Heard there were Sith who needed killing hereabouts, was looking forward to helping out."

 

[Zahara Myneto]

Location // ASV "Liberator" // Defiance Class Star Destroyer
Deep Space // Near Angor System // Myto's Arrow Hyperlane
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Admiral Zahara Myneto was beginning to be common sight in New Imperial Space, always coordinating with the Admiralty of the Order, directing logistics, and serving as aide de camp to High Admiral Pyrce, who was becoming more and more battle hardened as the months of the war dragged on. But their patience and their vigilance had payed off and within a week, a joint New Imperial-Alliance War Fleet would attack and hopefully capture Dubrillion and Jaemus leaving the main target of the war ripe for attack.

Hopefully. Movements were built on hope. Governments were built on hope. So his faith never wavered. Not even for a second did he doubt the abilities of the men under his command, or his colleagues.

"Liberator Actual to Command, Never to Yield. Bridagder General B'Haran this is Admiral Myneto, Seventh Fleet Command. I'll meet you on the Karak Marasiah. We have much to discuss. Liberator, out"

As futher messages were relayed between the Liberator and the Never to Yield, Zahara sat back into his command seat before moving his hand to contact the New Imperial Warship. "This is Admiral Myneto, Command, Seventh Fleet. General B'Haran is here to fight, and I'm here to make sure you win, over"

Cheapshot Mordred B'Haran Jalter Volff

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[Olen Halcorr]

Open Space, Near Angor System
Myto's Arrow Hyperlane
Myto Sector, Outer Rim

Aboard the Defiance-class Star Destroyer, Karak Marasiah

Touching down carefully in the hangar of the Karak Marasiah, Olen sat back in the cockpit of his X-Wing, taking a small glance out of the transparisteel. In all his years as a GA Starfighter pilot, he'd never been inside an actual Star Destroyer, though, he was currently stationed in a very big ship indeed. His astromech seemed even more excited than he was, which was saying something. Imperial Hangar Technicians flooded the X-Wings, helping the astromechs out of their sockets.

He hit a button on the control panel as there was a noise from the opening cockpit. He climbed down the yellow stairs, nodding his thanks as he tried to take in the hangar. It seemed similar.. but different in a way, the lack of orange flight suits momentarily confused him as he tried to acclimatise to his new surroundings. They'd been assigned to assist the Joint Special Task Force Group alongside elements of the Alliance such as Saber Squadron.

"I've actually never been on a Star Destroyer before, smaller than it looks eh, Kath." He nudged his Executive Officer, trying to make a joke. The "joke" earned the Alliance Starfighter pilot a few looks of annoyance from the hangar crew of the ship. Feeling a little sheepish, he walked off, trying to conjure up a vague idea of where he was actually needed. The sub-bridge? He scoffed, seemed like another fancy naval term for a secondary bridge.

Approaching a young Lieutenant who seemed greener than the grass of New Alderaan, he tried to get a somewhat cohesive idea of where it was he'd actually been called to. "Heya bud, could'ya tell me where the sub-bridge is?" Pointing to the turbolift and scurrying off, he raised an eyebrow in total surprise. Giving a sigh, he entered it,pushing the button and shooting up out of the hangar. It was a somewhat smooth ride, but nothing on the big turbolifts that he used on the Ouroboros, the dreadnought they were posted on.

Coming up on a thin walkway, he saw some TIE pilots and decided it would be natural to follow them. Gesturing to his pilots, he headed along the walkway, getting a few puzzled looks from the crew that hurried past him. He held his white flight helmet in his hand, comparing it to the vastly different TIE helmet. It was interesting to say the least. Deciding that he needed to hurry, he almost knocked over an administrative officer, mustering a sorry while continuing through the maze of hallways. He saw a large sign written in Aurebesh and hoped for the best.

Sauntering into the room, he tried to look somewhat important, taking a look at the famous Saber Squadron. They were the famous Jedi pilots that everyone talked about. He wanted to downplay his awe but seemingly failed, managing a nod at all the Alliance and New Imperial pilots, shuffling into the crowd. "Sorry I'm late. Commander Olen Halcorr, Twin Suns Leader,these are my pilots." He motioned to Kathryn and the others. "I was told to report here?" He told them, almost out of breath. He'd had quite a journey and felt positively foolish, thinking about how the TIE pilots did this all the time.

TAGS:
Cheapshot
Jalter Volff
Mordred B'Haran
Zahara Myneto
Loske Treicolt
Maynard Treicolt
Westenra Mina
Kathryn Foster
Tik Tik

 

[Westenra Mina]

Wearing: Piloting Catsuit

Current Configuration: Lana Layne (See Bio)

Armed with: Bloodsign (Red Core, Pink Aura Double Bladed Lightsaber)

Piloting: Bloodstone (REC-SS01 X-Wing Space Superiority Starfighter)

Objective: Dock on the Karak Marisiah

Three Hours Prior...

Westenra had a finger in a lot of GA pies at this point, as a philanthropic businesswoman helping balance military budgets or advancing military research; A Spy/Assassin for GA Intelligence; As a Psychologist treating extremely wealthy clients; As a heroic crime fighting vigilante making criminals in the Underworks chit themselves in fear...

And now as a fighter pilot.

GA Intelligence knew about one of her cover identities (The Psychologist Identity to be specific), but that was the only other one they knew. They probably suspected she had multiple cover identities anyway, and given the fact she could sneak into places where any other operative would have been caught, they would likely never know unless she told them. They didn't know what she was. She was free to operate in the GA as she saw fit.

Since she was already deeply involved in the military, from field operations to wetwork, Westenra had decided to dedicate a copy of herself exclusively to piloting for the Alliance.

She sat aboard her personal quarters in the Morpheus, the opposite of the white opulence of her sister Vera. It was an elegant but somber black suite much like her more mechanically inclined sisters Magnus and Meier.

One month prior she had sent in credentials to the GA for a mercenary pilot of incredible skill and talant. One completely unconnected to the Android's main identity. A spacer with Force Powers. And not a Jedi to boot. Willing to do wetwork.

The Navy had, of course, bitten. She had been assigned to the Twin Suns Squadron.

Now just came the matter of actually getting all that expensive piloting programming in her head...along with a few other things...

Westenra lay on an operating table, a programming needle inserted into her brain, down loading all relevant data, assigning it to a new appearance custom crafted for the job. Her flesh bubbled and wriggled, no distinct form other than humanoid while taking new programming.

Finally, with a disturbingly appropriate Egg-Timer like sound,, the programming computer shut off, having completed its task.

The flesh pulled into a feminine form, curvy but slender, with a sculpted face of classic beauty with long, flowing brown hair.

It was the eyes however, that hinted at something unnatural.

The veins in the eyes were a jagged like lightning, pink like the irises, with a strange, brightly glowing purple light at the center of the pupils.

It had taken some creative programming on her part to get around her ranged weapon restrictions. Since that was ironclad programming hard coded into her, she couldn't delete it. But she could add a clause: She was restricted from using any handheld energy or slugthrower weapons. Starfighter weapons were not directly held with her hand, and thus now exempt from the rule. Mother would be impressed at her inventiveness.

Westenra quickly had her custom pilot gear, a bronze, skintight chromium catsuit with the GA symbol emblazoned on the chest in faint print, along with all necessary attachments slipped on, and summoned Cern. Another copy of her had been sent to the Jedi Knight Laertia Io on Midvinter to help aid the woman who had become like a Sister to her...as well as actually take on a permanent role as an actual sister.

Cern, the young ex racer who was her Familiar entered, dragging in breakfast, a cute male Sith Imperial Officer. Galaxy never ran out of imperial officers to snack on.

"Ah Cern! Come in my faithful familiar, come in! And you've brought me a cute looking breakfast, how considerate!"

"Last one in the dungeon." Cern grunted. "Just a bunch of fat imperial tax collectors in there now. We'll have to restock."

"Magnus will handle that, trust me." Westenra assured. "Now..."

The Android vampire siezed the bound and gagged officer by the throat and bit it, ignoring his screams, flesh rippling as she drank his psychic energy. The man soon fell unconscious, and then the Android stopped feeding, licking the blood off. Superficial wounds. He'd wake up with twelve hours missing. But no permanent damage.

The Android dumped the man on the couch, treating his wounds with the probe of a nearby healing field generator.

"Cern, you know the usual procedure. Give him to GA intelligence."

Cern nodded. "It will be done Lady Mina.

"Has my X-Wing arrived?"

"Been here two hours."

"Excellent. What would I do without you?"

"Clean up your own messes?" he offered dryly.

"Oh, my, yes, how unpleasant." The Android replied, heading out of her suite. "Ta!"

(Plasmid Acquisition Theme Plays)

(Westenra has obtained a new Configuration!)

Configuration: LANA

Spoiler

Westenra's Piloting Configuration, that of a Force Sensitive Mercenary Ace. Enables her to project a false psychic aura that causes most adepts to perceive her as a Force User, and even gains psychic abilities that allow her to mimic this, in addition to top of the line programming regarding Starfighter Piloting and Dogfight procedures.

Present...

Westenra's X-Wing docked aboard the giant vessel. Her X-Wing matched the Squadron Colors, but her decal depicted a strange circle of clouds surrounding a ruby that dripped blood.

She was excited. Pure squee ran through her veins at this point and it was a struggle not to jump up and down. She hopped out and her beauty--and unsettling eyes--soon caught the attention of Hangar technicians as she walked across the hangar, carrying her helmet in her arm, hair in a bun as she walked to the exit, showing her I.D. to the guards before asking for the location of the sub-bridge they were supposed to meet in. The Guards, in spite of her beauty were creeped the feth out...her posture was too still, her strange eyes too precise, her athletic body too perfect like the skin on her face. They were only too happy to send her on her way when they spotted her lightsaber. Mother had built it for her: A double length hilt of Aurodium and glasteel in a cylindrical cage housing a pair of glowing pink synthetic crystals.

Westenra, now under the alias Lana Layne, eventually found the Sub Bridge where Olen Halcorr awaited, introducing his team.

Westenra remained silent, standing at attention, unnaturally still compared to the others in the room. You could not even tell if she was actually breathing.

Cheapshot

Jalter Volff

Mordred B'Haran

Zahara Myneto

Maynard Treicolt

Kathryn Foster